


Choose Your Poison

by darthjamtart



Series: Questing [3]
Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/pseuds/darthjamtart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenzi meets Koschei at the Dal on a Saturday night. She doesn’t get his name before agreeing to a game of pool, which in hindsight was probably a mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choose Your Poison

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleete/gifts).



Kenzi meets Koschei at the Dal on a Saturday night. She doesn’t get his name before agreeing to a game of pool, which in hindsight was probably a mistake.

Bo’s home with Lauren for the night, and Hale is off doing Ash things with his fancy new Ash buddies, and Dyson is sniffing out crime with his stupid Dark Fae partner, so Kenzi’s left to her own devices. It’s not that she has nowhere else to go, it’s just that the Dal is always a good place to start drinking. Maybe she can meet up with some other humans at another bar later on, and shit, when did she start thinking of them like that, _other humans_ , instead of just _people_?

She’s doing vodka shots at the bar when some guy slides onto the barstool next to her and orders a beer. Trick gives the guy a friendly nod with his pint, so Kenzi figures he’s safe enough for a friendly chat. He has a short, dark beard with a scattering of grey, but his eyes are young and bright when he looks at her, and he smiles at her through his glass as he lifts it to his lips.

He has a nice mouth. _What the hell,_ Kenzi thinks, and offers him the bottle of vodka she’d snagged from behind the bar when Trick’s back was turned.

“Thanks,” the guy says, accepting, and his voice is nice, too, low-pitched and warm with a hint of rasp, like he’s been running for a long time.

“So how do you know Trick?” Kenzi asks. The guy takes a long swallow from his beer, then offers her a wry smile.

“I went to see a man about a horse, once. Turned out Trick was the man.”

“Horses, huh?” Kenzi says, and grins down the bar to where Trick is chatting with another customer. “I never figured Trick for a...what do you call someone who sells horses, anyway?”

“Oh, he wasn’t selling,” the man murmurs, and he winks at her, brazen enough to make her laugh.

“Trick’s always been some sort of bookkeeper, I guess,” Kenzi says. The vodka is warmer than she likes, and she can feel her mouth twisting as she throws back another shot. She quirks an eyebrow at the man, whose name she still doesn’t know yet. His gaze slides to the waiting pool table and he holds out a hand.

“And I’ve always liked to gamble,” he says. “Care to play?”

Kenzi considers this, then grasps his hand in her own. “Name the stakes. And no weird Fae things that might kill me.” Hale had to bail her out of one of those wagers once. Kenzi’s still not sure whether it was more mortifying or scary.

The man pulls an egg out of his pocket and lays it gently on the bar. “You win, you get the egg. I win, you bring me...a glass of water.”

It’s possible that this will seem less surreal to Kenzi when the vodka wears off. Or maybe more surreal. She takes a swallow straight from the bottle, just to see if it makes the terms make any more sense.

Nope. “We have a deal,” she says cheerfully, and gives the man’s hand a vigorous shake. His grip is strangely weak.

They’re well-matched: Kenzi’s been playing pool half her life, but this is a Fae bar, and her life is significantly shorter than most of the other patrons of the Dal. Her new buddy lines up his shots well, but often fails to put sufficient force into the cue.

She scratches once, and it’s enough to give him the edge. He sinks the eight-ball and leans against the table, smirking at her while she rolls her eyes and fetches him the promised glass of water.

“What’s your name, anyway?” she asks, her gaze fixed on the ripple of his throat as he takes long swallows from the glass. When the last drop is gone, he sets the glass aside and offers her another handshake. She takes his hand and he squeezes gently, just enough to make her wince.

“Koschei,” he says, and he winks at her again, bright-eyed and impossibly young, stronger than he was mere moments before.

“Oh, fuck,” Kenzi says.

“I’ll see you again, Kenzi,” Koschei tells her, and he raises her hand to his lips, presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you for the game.”

He strides out of the Dal, and Kenzi slumps her way back to the bar and glares at Trick. “Why didn’t you _warn_ me?” Kenzi asks. Trick just shakes his head at her and goes back to cleaning the glasses. There’s a fresh bottle of vodka within easy reach, and Kenzi plucks it from the bar even though she’s pretty sure she’s done drinking for tonight.

***

***

***

**Author's Note:**

> Illustration of Koschei by Benvenuti, from the Golden Press book of Russian Fairy Tales.


End file.
